


Guanxi

by Camelittle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Canon Compliant, Caring, Consort Leon, Domesticity, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Homecoming, Hopeful, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Multi, NOT SAD, Old Friends to Lovers, Older Characters, Past Character Death, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Queen Guinevere, Slice of Life, Threesome - F/M/M, life goes on - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21859594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle
Summary: It took many years to rebuild their shattered hearts after Camlann, but gradually with time Gwen, Leon and Merlin have learned to find comfort and hope in one another.
Relationships: Gwen/Leon/Merlin
Comments: 18
Kudos: 38
Collections: Merlin Holidays 2019





	Guanxi

**Author's Note:**

  * For [altocello](https://archiveofourown.org/users/altocello/gifts).



> Dear Altocello - it was such a pleasure writing for your gentle prompts. I absolutely loved writing fluff and emotional hurt/comfort for this older-character post-canon rare threesome. Wishing you a very warm and hopeful holiday season filled with comfort and joy. I hope you don't mind me bestowing the title Guanxi on Leon's beloved horse! With sincerest thanks to C for beta reading and providing much-needed encouragement.
> 
> For the prompt: guanxi // 關係 (chinese, n.) - a network of social connections based on mutual trust and the balancing of debts by returning favors so that the relationship’s benefits are shared by all.
> 
> Huge thanks to the mods for your hard work keeping this wonderful fest alive <3 <3 <3

Leon’s horse, Guanxi trudges along at a slow walk, her feet sure on the muddy path. Far ahead, the turrets of Camelot glisten with snow, here and there tinged with pink in the waning light of the sun. Anticipation swells in Leon’s chest, for a lone figure of a man stands at the gate, just as he had hoped. Familiar and beloved, the man is dressed in comfortable, worn garments in muted browns with a tattered hand-sewn red handkerchief around his neck. As he nears, Leon blinks, his blurred vision resolving an untidy shock of blue-black hair, streaked in spots with grey, and a wide grin. It’s this expression that tugs him closer like a magnet, and he clicks his tongue, urging his mare to quicken her pace to a trot.

More grateful than he is able to express that Merlin has met him in person, alone, instead of sending out a ceremonial party that Leon has to put on a show for, he dismounts with a weary grimace, joints popping. “Merlin!”

“Welcome home, Sir Leon.” The formality is a sham - betrayed by Merlin’s warm grin and even warmer embrace. “I missed you. We both did,” Merlin whispers into Leon’s shoulder.

“And I, you,” Leon replies in an undertone. But spying two scurrying stablemen, he steps back a pace to avoid displaying any more unseemly emotion. At the same time, the grooms set to work soothing Guanxi’s flanks with careful hands.

Ignoring the attentions of the stablemen, Guanxi whickers and nuzzles at Merlin’s clothing as if to demand her own greeting. She is a fine mare, tall and strong, bred in far distant lands across the water and gifted to Leon by Percival after one of his expeditions, but she has a sweet tooth and a fondness for treats. Merlin indulges her and the other horses horribly. With a ticking noise at the back of his mouth, Merlin takes Guanxi’s reins from Leon now and pats her nose. Meanwhile, he fishes a plump apple out of a pocket, which he holds for her to take. 

“Still spoiling the horses, I see.” Leon nods at the apple

“Hush. She’s been carrying your heavy carcass around for days, poor thing. She deserves a treat.”

“And what about me?” protests Leon, pulling his worn, leather travel bag from Guanxi’s back before the grooms take her reins from Merlin, and wincing at the weight. “Where’s my treat?”

“Oh, hush. You’re as bad as Gwaine was! Here, let me take that.” Merlin may still be thin and scrawny, but he shoulders the bag as if it weighs nothing.

“No-one’s that bad! Only Gwaine could dream about pie when on a deadly quest.” Leon shakes his head. Together, they start to walk towards the open gate, guards parting to allow them to pass beneath the stone arch and along the narrow path, Guanxi following, her hooves clattering on the cobbles.

“Aye, he was one of a kind. Remember when he found a crab-apple tree on a hunt, gorging on unripe crab-apples that would give him stomach-ache for days?” Merlin lets out a wry chuckle, mouth twisting at the memory.

“He frightened away all the game, he made such a racket” reminisces Leon with a surge of affection for his lost friend. “I thought he’d give Arthur apoplexy with his moaning and groaning.”

“Arthur loved it really.” Merlin’s hand is warm on Leon’s back. “Gwaine always cheered us all up, even in the face of peril. He made things seem fun, somehow.”

The joy of being with Merlin as always is that he understands. Leon does not have to explain why exchanging fond memories of their fallen comrades is both bittersweet and as essential as breathing. They fall into step physically, mentally and emotionally, uttering more reminiscences as they walk, Leon focusing on putting one foot in front of the other while Merlin waves away the converging swarms of servants and courtiers and squires that Leon is too tired to acknowledge.

“Anyway,” Merlin adds eventually as they approach the courtyard at the foot of the grand staircase up to the palace. “We have treats aplenty awaiting you in the Queen’s chambers.” He frowns at Leon’s stiff gait up the two steps that lead to the raised stone floor. “You’re hobbling a bit. Your mother been beating you up again?”

“Something like that.” Leon chuckles, something tight softening in his chest and shoulders that has nothing to do with hours spent on horseback and everything to do with the man who greeted him on his arrival.

No doubt Merlin spied him through his scrying-bowl, and hurried to make preparations for his arrival. No doubt either that as a result, there will be a merry fire lit in the Queen’s chambers, and a hot bath ready for him to soak aching limbs in. The very thought is almost enough to make him groan out loud in anticipation.

He knows too, from long experience, that Gwen will have ensured that the Yuletide decorations are up - evergreen boughs of holly and pine, ripe with red berries will festoon the place, filling the halls and galleries with a clean, resinous scent. Bright candles and torches will cast a benevolent glow across the great hall and round table. His nose twitches, catching a tantalising aroma drifting across the courtyard from the kitchens; baking bread and roasting meat to greet the return of the Queen’s consort from his dutiful journeying.

“How fares she? Your mother?” Merlin shifts the weight of Leon’s bag on his back.

“Oh, you know.” Leon shakes his head. “The usual litany of complaints. _You never come to visit me, Leon. My own son, whom I raised single-handed,_ blah, blah. This, despite the fact that I was clearly there to pay her such a visit. Then we launch into _my daughter hates me and is trying to poison me..._ ”

“How so?”

“Ah. Well, it transpires that Celeste allowed the cook to feed her something with garlic in it last week. Garlic! Foreign muck! You would have thought Mother were a vampire, from the sheer horror that she used to describe her reaction!”

“Your poor sister.” Merlin’s eyes narrow to sympathetic half-moons. “She bears her trials with great fortitude. We must send her something extra special as a Yule gift this year. I’m sure Gwen will have some great ideas.”

“Absolutely,” Leon sighs, the mixture of guilt and worry weighing on his shoulders as he watches the grooms lead Guanxi away. “Mother was loath to let me return. She begged me to stay and save her from Celeste’s efforts to bump her off with foreign food. I know this couldn’t be further from the truth, but even so, I worry that I am failing in my duty to her.”

“You’re the most loyal and dutiful son alive, Leon. And the most loyal friend and consort. Everyone in the five kingdoms knows that, including your mother, when she thinks about it.”

This is why Leon loves Merlin so. Trust Merlin to put his finger on what bothers him most about his mother’s criticisms and to counter them with a well-aimed supportive comment. Little wonder that he has come to be such a solid adviser to the crown of Camelot. And so much more.

But even now, few know of the truth of the relationship that the Queen and her consort share with the court magician; Merlin prefers to maintain the facade of service, while Gwen and Leon go along with his wishes. The arrangement works very well, and allows them to keep one firm finger on the pulse of sentiment among Camelot’s servants, merchants and common people.

“I know that, really,” Leon allows. “But her complaints do get to me after a while. And then I feel guilty for resenting her, you know?”

“Only too well.” Merlin shakes his head in sympathy.

Merlin, of all people, after nursing first Gaius and later his own mother through the indignities brought by age, understands both Leon’s worry and his vexation. Because of this, each time Leon confides in him, his burden eases a little more.

“Tell me news of Camelot.” Leon adds. “What of the Queen? How has she been?”

“All the better for hearing of your return, as am I.” Merlin’s grin widens to a heart-stopping smile that makes his eyes dance with merriment for a moment, but when it settles a minute hint of worry bites a line between his brows, and he presses his lips together.

Stepping to one side, Leon catches Merlin’s arm with his left hand, letting it tarry there in a caress that he holds for as long as he dares. They exchange a lingering look, gazes locked in mutual understanding. Merlin's eyes hold a sadness that has never really left him, not since they lost Arthur all those years ago, but also a profound sense of hope. They’re in too public a place to take the intimacy of the moment any further, but Leon allows himself a moment to drink in the familiar arch of Merlin’s eyebrows and the dimple that Merlin’s half-smile punches in his cheek.

“No one is happier for my return than I,” Leon says softly. “And none more grateful that you were here to meet me.”

Merlin’s gaze drops before he peeps up at Leon through sly, bashful lashes. “She works too hard. Ector has been harrying her to sign papers that confer advantage on his family. He takes advantage of your absence to prey upon her sense of duty." 

"Poor Gwen. I will deal with him," says Leon grimly. The portly Sir Ector is as persistent as a mosquito, and twice as irritating. He grinds away at people until they capitulate.

"Not today, you won't! I deflect him as best I can. But come. She is waiting for us. I will fill you in with news as we walk.”

Nodding, Leon forces his sore legs to take the steps up to the citadel two at a time, Merlin’s chattering presence steady at his side. When a portly courtier emerges at a jog from a corridor, waving a sheaf of papers, a wave of fatigue passes over Leon like a cloud. But Merlin is on hand to bat him away with a dismissive wave of his hand. “No, Sir Ector, Sir Leon cannot see you now. The matter can wait another day.”

“But these papers cannot be delayed any lo—”

“No buts.” Merlin raises a hand and lowers a stern eyebrow, face moulding into an intent glower that has the hapless Ector stepping back in alarm. “Have the kitchens sent food up. I will serve the queen and her consort myself. Tell the council that they are not to be disturbed.”

Stifling a chuckle behind one gloved hand, Leon transforms it into a cough instead. This is why their subterfuge is so damned clever. For Ector is no fool, and the gods themselves know that Merlin is no servant, not any more, even though he has never officially been named as anything else. But protocol prevents Ector from questioning Merlin’s role. Instead he bobs around like a frustrated robin, getting in their way while he tries to think of some way to get Leon’s signature without accusing either of the queen’s closest advisors of lying.

“At once!” barks Merlin, imbuing his voice with enough magic to make the windows rattle. Outside the citadel, the sound is echoed by an ominous rumble of thunder.

Flustered, Ector steps back, almost dislodging a decorative set of armour in his haste.

Still hiding his amusement behind his gauntlet, Leon continues along his journey.

By the time they reach the Queen’s chambers, Merlin has deflected several further interruptions. Serving staff, knights and couriers alike get the same firm but polite dismissal. He sends the Queen’s guards away as they step inside. An emphatic wave of one hand has the heavy doors crashing together behind them.

At last, they are alone. Sunlight streams in through the window, and the queen turns to the two men, greeting him with a warm smile.

“Leon! Welcome home!”

Her beauty still has the power to steal his breath. The march of time has taken none of her grace, although her smile now picks out lines of age on her face, and her curls, held back from her face in simple braids, are here and there streaked with white. She is wearing a simple pale-violet velvet gown, trimmed with gold thread across the decolletage and cinched at the waist by a golden cord. For a moment, Leon cannot speak and just stares at her, choked by a sudden upwelling of affection.

“My lady!” he manages to stutter out, eventually, even as he bends one stiff knee and bows his head.

“Oh, get up you great oaf and come here and stop being so damned formal.” She beckons, hands held out wide, and they embrace. “Thank all the gods you have returned to us,” she murmurs into the folds of his cloak. “It eases our hearts to have you home, where you belong.”

“And mine, Gwen, my dear heart.” Like the triskelion, the symbol of the druids, the three of them — Queen, Sorcerer and Consort — are strongest when they are linked together as a seamless whole.

“Although you stink of horse.” She stands back, head on one side, wrinkling her nose and pulling a face that reminds him of her days as a serving wench.

Her quip makes him laugh out loud, at the same time loosening something tight and lonely that has been burdening his chest during the past few weeks of necessary absence. In public, Gwen is every inch the Queen of Camelot — steel-backboned and stern. But behind closed doors the façade relaxes, affording Leon and Merlin glimpses of the blacksmith’s daughter that long ago tripped and babbled and charmed her way into their lives, full of coy smiles and shy kindnesses. Her trust in them both never fails to awe him, and fill him with pride that between the two of them they can protect that essential core of her against the weight of the monarchy and all the competing pressures that it brings. This remains their duty to her, and to their shared love both for the queen herself and for the much-mourned king that came before her.

Merlin coughs then. “Your bath awaits, Leon. Come.”

“Has he been looking after you, Gwen?”

“Barely,” says Gwen, with a sorrowful shake of her head.

“Oi!” Merlin puts his hands on his hips in mock outrage. “I have been most attentive, I’ll have you know!”

She presses her lips together in a sly, coquettish smile and rejoinders, “Oh, he has a clever tongue and lips, I’ll grant him that, but there are some things that one man alone just cannot do, not having sufficient equipment to pleasure me as fully a pair of devoted acolytes can.”

“I’m standing right here!” protests Merlin.

“Gwen!” Heat floods Leon’s face as he pictures what she is hinting at, and he laughs out loud. She still has the capability to surprise him, even after all these years, and he loves her for it.

“Oh, Gods, look at you.” She lets out a peal of laughter, which Merlin echoes. “You’re such a prude, Leon. Never change.” She plants a chaste kiss on his lips before starting to strip him of his clothing with quick, practiced fingers.

“If the court only knew!” he murmurs. “They think you are so innocent, but we know better, don’t we Merlin?”

“Aye.” Raising a quizzical eyebrow as he chuckles, Merlin passes an expert hand across the bathwater, raising a delicate plume of steam. He dips in one hand, swirling it about. “Now, in you get, oh magnificent warrior! You stink.”

With an obedient nod, Leon steps naked into the bath and sinks back into the hot water with a grateful sigh. “Oh, Goddess, I’m weary. But where is Aelfric?” Aelfric is Leon’s manservant, and he would normally be responsible for bathing his master.

“I dismissed him. Merlin and I will tend you today.”

“But, my lady!” objects Leon, as he starts to rise.

“Hush, now.” With firm but gentle hands, Gwen pushes him back down into the water where she hovers behind him, and starts massaging fragrant oils into his shoulders, humming a sweet tune. “Aelfric is a sweet boy, but we have missed you far more than he has. We wish for your company in private. Besides which, your hair is a shocking mess. I will braid it for you.”

“You know it’s easier to just let her, when she’s got a bee in her bonnet about hair,” adds Merlin.

“I find braiding hair soothing. Allow me this one luxury, you rotten pair.” It’s true that Gwen has not enjoyed the idleness that comes with her elevated office.

Chuckling, Leon shakes his head. “All right. You win, my lady.”

“Stop calling me that in private, Leon. We have known each other for long enough.”

A fire spits and crackles on the hearth while Merlin gathers all Leon’s discarded garments into a basket for laundering. As Gwen lathers Leon’s hair and beard, teasing out all the tangles with a long-toothed comb, the domesticity of the situation lulls him. He lets his eyebrows flutter closed, relaxing into the warmth of the water and the strength of Gwen’s skilful fingers against his scalp.

Before long, they’re interrupted by a tentative knock on the door. Barely managing to lift his eyelids, Leon senses rather than sees as Merlin dismiss the unseen maid with a brief word and carries a heavy tray across to the table, where he sets out a flagon of ale, three goblets, and an array of cooling pies, fruit, cheeses and meats. The enticing smells that start emanating from the table remind Leon that he has spent days eating only marching rations, and his belly rumbles, making Gwen laugh.

“There. Now you look like a warrior again, rather than a ragamuffin, my handsome strawberry-blond knight.” She passes a fond hand across his cheek and allows him to rise, his naked body shedding water back into the tub, skin pebbling in the cool air.

“Not so handsome these days, my lady.” He returns her chaste kiss, relishing the soft warmth of her skin on his. “And more grey than blond.”

“You blonds don’t know how lucky you are. Your white hairs just make your hair look blonder, whereas mine make me look old and decrepit,” says Merlin as he casts a drying cloth across Leon’s shoulders.

“Stop fishing for compliments, Merlin,” Leon replies. “You don’t look a day over thirty and you know it. I suspect sorcery, or worse. Do you keep an elixir of youth in the caverns beneath Camelot? Because if so, I reckon you could make a fortune out of it.”

Gwen bursts out laughing. “If only. I would drink it all, to make my joints work better.”

Later, once he is dry and dressed in soft sleeping garments, after they have all dined and drunk wine in front of the fire, he makes his way to the royal bed, where his lovers flank him, one with her head tucked into the crook of his shoulder, and the other with a protective arm flung across his chest. A muttered spell deals with the curtains and floods the chamber with warmth. The world outside might as well not exist. For a few precious hours, a cocoon around them, born of mutual esteem and shared loss, smooths away the care that lines Gwen’s face. In the comforting darkness, Merlin’s scars and Leon’s fatigue fade until all that matters is their touch on each other’s skin.

And later still, when the dusky grey Yule Eve light has fully dimmed to a deep, velvety black, their breathing slows to steady sighs that gust warm across his bare chest and he allows his eyes to drift closed, content.

***

END

***

**Author's Note:**

> The legends of Merlin and Arthur and their companions belong to us all. I've borrowed this BBC / Shine version for a bit, that's all. I am not getting paid for the outcome.


End file.
